The name's Wheelbarrow - Sam Wheelbarrow.
The city had gone to rack and ruin. Ronnie Rack and Reggie Ruin, two of
the smartest operators in the business. They'd soon left Telecom and
were running the biggest organised crime network in the East Midlands.
Now burglars ran riot. Muggers ran amok. And Ronnie and Reggie ran the
Police Dept. They had the Chief Commissioner in their back pockets. One
foot in each. It used to amuse them to run along the street and hear his
head bouncing on the pavement behind them.
Inspector Newton was the only clean cop I knew. His name was cleared
after an incident in court. He sprained his wrist during mixed doubles
and couldn't take backhanders. He was having such difficulty with bent
coppers that eventually he had to give up and call me from a card phone.
When I arrived at Police HQ, the Neighbourhood Watch group were up in
arms. They were after the Armalite rifles. They tried to bribe the
officer in charge to hand over the weapons. Some of them were Loaded,
but most of them didn't have nearly enough money. Citizens had started
taking the law into their own hands. But as they were only on Radio 4,
nobody cared.
This place needed sorting out and sorting out good. Why, the guns weren't
even stored in alphabetical order.
Newton feared the worst. In fact, he wasn't fond of anything in the
delicatessen so we moved into the street. "This whole set-up stinks,"
he said. He was right. They should never arrange a display of cheeses
in a south facing window like that. "The Department's got to clean up
it's act," he said. True, they'd not won the inter-departmental talent
contest for eight years, but I thought they ought to concentrate on
Police business first.
"Look out!" I said, "Someone's thrown the freezer out of the path lab!"
We jumped clear of it, but then we saw, projected on a cloud, an image
that brought back unpleasant memories. It was a picture of a bat. Newton
shuddered, "You don't think...?"
"This is no time to be trading insults," I said. "I do think, I think a
lot. And I think this means what I think you think I think it means."
"Do you think it's a Dark Knight?"
'Well it's a little cloudy, let's get inside."
It meant we were in for an attack of Superheroes. Only last year the city
had been full of Masked Avengers. And most of them were driven by Caped
Crusaders. Some were vigilantes, some weren't Italian at all. Newspaper
photographer Peter Pinker and been bitten by a radioactive spider plant
and become the Botanic Man. He turned out to be a weed. When newspaper
photographer Peter Perker had eaten an irradiated Black Forest Gateau
he had become Pie-Der Man. A couple of times he'd left us with egg on
our face so we told him to beat it. After he'd tried to climb a building
on a rope attached to a Meringue-O-Rang we heard no more of him.
Monkey Man had met a similar fate trying to climb up an Orang Utang-O-
Rang. Butler Man and his You Rang-O-Rang never caught on, and the same
went for Captain Privatisation and his Public Utility Belt.
People hit by Gamma Rays had become crime fighting hulks. People hit
by Delta Rays had realised they were swimming in the wrong place.
The Superheroes the banded together. The Revengers united in the name of
truth, justice and liberty. The Assistors united in the name of life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And the League Of The Society Of
Justice For America Liberal Democrats Marxist Leninists United FC could
never agree on a name.
Captain Wood went against the grain and formed a splinter group, but
Gravity Man fell out. Butcher Man got the chop, Nudge Man got the elbow,
Used-Car Salesman ran off with Mini Clubman, The Human Foot got the
boot, Zimmerman was framed, and Bananaman split.
After six months crime fighting the Superheroes fell victim to the one
foe they couldn't resist. The dreaded VATman. The all failed to fill in
Customs and Excise VAT form F3790, never to return.
Now we were to be visited by more of the same. Who could be using a bat
as their emblem?
"It is I - The Cricket!" said a figure all clad in white, with an
athletic support outside his trousers. "Criminals are a Cowdray lot, so
I chose a disguise that would strike fear into their hearts. Bitten by a
Radio 3 sports commentator I mutated and developed superhuman powers. You
should see my googlies now! I'll put a stop to this racquet, old sport.
I'll bowl 'em over and hit 'em for six. See how they run! Wicket! Not
out for..."
Before he could say any more I shot him. The last thing the world needed
was another superhero. The second-to-last thing were more jokes like
this. As an after thought. I shot the writer.
G'night and may your di@k *›&"h ~&+ you {^<.
The city had gone to rack and ruin. Ronnie Rack and Reggie Ruin, two of
the smartest operators in the business. They'd soon left Telecom and
were running the biggest organised crime network in the East Midlands.
Now burglars ran riot. Muggers ran amok. And Ronnie and Reggie ran the
Police Dept. They had the Chief Commissioner in their back pockets. One
foot in each. It used to amuse them to run along the street and hear his
head bouncing on the pavement behind them.
Inspector Newton was the only clean cop I knew. His name was cleared
after an incident in court. He sprained his wrist during mixed doubles
and couldn't take backhanders. He was having such difficulty with bent
coppers that eventually he had to give up and call me from a card phone.
When I arrived at Police HQ, the Neighbourhood Watch group were up in
arms. They were after the Armalite rifles. They tried to bribe the
officer in charge to hand over the weapons. Some of them were Loaded,
but most of them didn't have nearly enough money. Citizens had started
taking the law into their own hands. But as they were only on Radio 4,
nobody cared.
This place needed sorting out and sorting out good. Why, the guns weren't
even stored in alphabetical order.
Newton feared the worst. In fact, he wasn't fond of anything in the
delicatessen so we moved into the street. "This whole set-up stinks,"
he said. He was right. They should never arrange a display of cheeses
in a south facing window like that. "The Department's got to clean up
it's act," he said. True, they'd not won the inter-departmental talent
contest for eight years, but I thought they ought to concentrate on
Police business first.
"Look out!" I said, "Someone's thrown the freezer out of the path lab!"
We jumped clear of it, but then we saw, projected on a cloud, an image
that brought back unpleasant memories. It was a picture of a bat. Newton
shuddered, "You don't think...?"
"This is no time to be trading insults," I said. "I do think, I think a
lot. And I think this means what I think you think I think it means."
"Do you think it's a Dark Knight?"
'Well it's a little cloudy, let's get inside."
It meant we were in for an attack of Superheroes. Only last year the city
had been full of Masked Avengers. And most of them were driven by Caped
Crusaders. Some were vigilantes, some weren't Italian at all. Newspaper
photographer Peter Pinker and been bitten by a radioactive spider plant
and become the Botanic Man. He turned out to be a weed. When newspaper
photographer Peter Perker had eaten an irradiated Black Forest Gateau
he had become Pie-Der Man. A couple of times he'd left us with egg on
our face so we told him to beat it. After he'd tried to climb a building
on a rope attached to a Meringue-O-Rang we heard no more of him.
Monkey Man had met a similar fate trying to climb up an Orang Utang-O-
Rang. Butler Man and his You Rang-O-Rang never caught on, and the same
went for Captain Privatisation and his Public Utility Belt.
People hit by Gamma Rays had become crime fighting hulks. People hit
by Delta Rays had realised they were swimming in the wrong place.
The Superheroes the banded together. The Revengers united in the name of
truth, justice and liberty. The Assistors united in the name of life,
liberty and the pursuit of happiness. And the League Of The Society Of
Justice For America Liberal Democrats Marxist Leninists United FC could
never agree on a name.
Captain Wood went against the grain and formed a splinter group, but
Gravity Man fell out. Butcher Man got the chop, Nudge Man got the elbow,
Used-Car Salesman ran off with Mini Clubman, The Human Foot got the
boot, Zimmerman was framed, and Bananaman split.
After six months crime fighting the Superheroes fell victim to the one
foe they couldn't resist. The dreaded VATman. The all failed to fill in
Customs and Excise VAT form F3790, never to return.
Now we were to be visited by more of the same. Who could be using a bat
as their emblem?
"It is I - The Cricket!" said a figure all clad in white, with an
athletic support outside his trousers. "Criminals are a Cowdray lot, so
I chose a disguise that would strike fear into their hearts. Bitten by a
Radio 3 sports commentator I mutated and developed superhuman powers. You
should see my googlies now! I'll put a stop to this racquet, old sport.
I'll bowl 'em over and hit 'em for six. See how they run! Wicket! Not
out for..."
Before he could say any more I shot him. The last thing the world needed
was another superhero. The second-to-last thing were more jokes like
this. As an after thought. I shot the writer.
G'night and may your di@k *›&"h ~&+ you {^<.
